


Harmonies

by ParadiseParrot



Series: Cadenza [2]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime
Genre: Adoption, Gen, Not Canon Compliant, Post-Series, Post-War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-03
Updated: 2016-12-29
Packaged: 2018-06-06 06:04:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6741661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ParadiseParrot/pseuds/ParadiseParrot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The war is over, and someone's been left behind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Optimus

**Author's Note:**

> EDIT: my notes have been in the summary for a month apparently? lovely.
> 
> Hey folks, my semester is over and I can post a bit again! This piece takes place in Cadenza's universe, set between the end of chapter 4 of that story, up until after Predacons Rising-so I highly recommend you read Cadenza first, if you need some context!
> 
> I'm not really following Preds Rising canon all that religiously, for the purposes of the story, but nonetheless I hope you enjoy! This is first in hopefully a series of pieces about Sonata and other people in his life.

"Here's one you would like," said Optimus.

Sonata sat on the ground, just out of sight among the overstuffed bookshelves. When others passed, he went unnoticed, but it had never worked on Optimus Prime.

"I can sign it out under my name, if you'd like," he went on. There was the sound of a datapad being switched on. A low, crackling hum, indicating the mechanism's age. "This is a historical record, not a novel, so it needs clearance, but...hm. I can leave it in your hab, if when you're through you put it back. I ought to back up its contents before we've lost it for good."

His carrier had never told him Autobot horror stories, not like Knock Out had, and so Sonata had known they wouldn't harm him. Too soft, Soundwave had told him. But always your enemy. Remember it was they who brought us to this.

Sonata hadn't feared them, not till his shuttle had roared right into the endless dirt of Earth's moon, and he had found himself at their mercy. He'd lashed out, bitten, kicked, anything he could manage, but he'd been weak from so long without energy. They had subdued him, and held snugly in the arms of the big green one, they'd taken them to the Nemesis (their ship! His sire's ship!)

The medic had held him down as Optimus approached, but the big mech had stopped as soon as saw the state Sonata was in. "Let him go, old friend. We've frightened him."

Ratchet had huffed, but loosened his grip all the same. Sonata had bolted from the medical bay, into the only unlocked room, and realized too late that that was what they'd planned. Then he had been a prisoner. Not kept aboard the Nemesis with Knock Out and the Vehicons, but not allowed to leave. Not allowed to know where Soundwave was.

And they must have been lying to him! Soundwave would only leave Sonata through death itself, and they had assured him there was no body. Maybe they had already melted him and Laserbeak down.

No one had come for him. And it hadn't been long at all before the door was unlocked and he had visitors. There was nowhere to hide, but he could dial down his optics and wait for them to stop talking.

Optimus had come most often. The others peered in, too (the medic especially, and the tall blue officer), but they never disturbed him, not like the Prime. The Prime was nosy, concerned about things that were unnecessary fears.

"Do you have everything you need?" he would ask, as if Sonata had a choice. "Are you well? Our medic's last diagnostic of you could not be completed."

Because you ran away. Sonata would bring his legs up closer and ignore him completely. Optimus's warmth, his willingness to help, circled around him, and Sonata pushed it away. He would have tried to continue like this forever, until an escape route opened but Optimus started leaving books.

Many he knew. Many were also below his reading level (did they think he was a baby?) but books were still books. They had been his company on long days, when his family had to be away from him. Here, where his family was gone...well. Books couldn't be family, but they passed the hours.

He took to leaving his finished ones on the side table, the one nearest to the door. One of the other Autobots noticed first—the nosy one, who'd had an Omega Key pulled from his chest. He blinked once at Sonata, then turned towards the books. "Are you done these?"

Sonata waited a beat. Finally he nodded, turning back to his favourite (also finished, but one he didn't want to let go of).

The Autobot grinned, not faltering when Sonata didn't return it. "Alright! Well, I'll take these back to the records—never thought I'd be back to cataloguing in Iacon, but hey! War's winding down." He picked up the stack of datapads, balanced precariously in his arms, and left Sonata to himself.

The very next day, he woke up to his door clicking shut, and scrambled off the berth. More datapads had been deposited on his side table—several new, but most like the records hall ones he'd gotten used to. Sonata flicked a new one on and found it loaded up, full of the books he'd read in this room. His name was on the thing, too, the familiar glyphs etched in on one side.

One of the pads was blank, carrying a stylus. A few simple games, too, but not what he'd played back home. It was all still something to do, and he passed the day in peace, with his new things. His things. They had put his name on them himself.

When Optimus next came by, it was to leave a keycard on the table. Sonata had tried the door a few times in his captivity, each time finding it locked. The more he read from this library, though, the more he realized the path to Soundwave was probably not through Cybertron's wastes. He looked at the card with interest, and Optimus's mouth twitched. Right away, Sonata scowled instead.

"The old Iacon Hall of Records is down this hallway, to the right," he said. "I would encourage you now to start choosing books, or explore. These four walls must be closing in on you."

He was right about that, but Sonata ignored him. He was used to being closed into a room—this one just had less to look forward to.

Sonata didn't answer, so Optimus simply moved on. "You don't seem uncomfortable, but there is a washrack down the opposite hallway. It is for you, so feel free. Explore the base, in fact. Despite Ultra Magnus's fears, you are not a security risk, nor do I believe you will run away."

He scowled. As if there was somewhere to run. "Maybe I would," Sonata said, choosing to be petulant.

Optimus nodded. "You have a right to come and go," he said. "I would advise against running away, given the precarious terrain outside the city centre."

Silence. Sonata turned back to his book, and waited for Optimus to leave. Eventually, he heard a sigh, and Optimus was turning back towards the door. "No one will disturb you when you choose to explore," he said, the door opening to let him out. "There are many more books I think you'd enjoy."

It was two more days before Sonata ventured out, during Cybertron's quiet downshift. He paused at the first big window, long enough to stare at their old warship and the moons beyond. The planet was beautiful, a world clearly for them, and Sonata did want to explore it. Laserbeak would have a lot to say. He imagined the stories she could tell him, the secrets she must know about their home as their race's greatest scout. He followed Prime's directions, arriving quickly at a wide, arched entrance. And paused.

He had never actually seen the library the Nemesis had sported. Soundwave or Laserbeak had often brought him books, but he had done so little unsupervised exploring. Soundwave's own shelf had been small and neat, exclusive to his personal favourites (for Soundwave, that had been "his most useful books," with little interest in fiction). This was different. These shelves towered, dusty and imposing, covered floor to ceiling in unsorted datapads. Sonata could easily become lost in here, never noticed again by these Autobots and whatever they had planned.

The first ladder he climbed, he found the rest of The Chronicles of the Knights of Cybertron. They had had a single, scuffed-up volume back home, partway through the story, one that Sonata had read over and over. Sonata's spark skipped in spite of himself, and he snatched the heavy datapad off the shelf. Right next to it were the Gladiator Tales. That was almost family history, so he took it down too.

He realized, with another joyful start of his spark, that this whole section was things that he loved. Endless shelves of pre-Functionist folklore and novels—none of the fluffed, worthless nonsense from after the Golden Age. He'd never liked romance novels and moralist literature (the former, according to Laserbeak, was what Starscream's bookshelf was dominated by). Adventure stories, from a time Sonata had been unfortunate enough to be born after, were what he craved.

The books he couldn't carry back, he shoved into the oldest, dustiest part of the records hall. When he had carefully stacked his new acquisitions, he went in the opposite direction from his room. Optimus, again, had told the truth, and he found the little washrack in working order. It took some creative stretching to reach the taps, but the hot water and fresh solvent were comforting, a relaxing change. He felt a little better when he was through. For once, he recharged in relative peace, surrounded by new companions.

He awoke to alarms, and his door crashing open.

Sonata only registered that several Autobots had invaded his space, the fierce Magnus and a lower-ranked contingent, and at his first clear shot to the door he bolted. With a grunt of effort, the yellow one had snatched him up. Despite Sonata's wild flailing, his grip was firm.

"Urgh—kid, come on—"

"Really?" a female voice said. The little blue femme was here too, and she was going through his books, the ones he had piled so carefully that night. "I have to tell you, sir, I don't think storybooks are a heightened security risk."

"Don't touch them!" Sonata shrieked.

All optics were on him, and he went still. Sonata lowered his pitch. "I picked them to read. I won't hurt them."

Ultra Magnus had looked just as cold and imposing their first meeting as he did this moment. He loomed over Sonata and his captor. Were Sonata's optics that same blue ice? He preferred Laserbeak's warm amber, or Soundwave's purple. He squirmed.

"Unauthorized removal of archive material is a serious offense," he said, voice flat.

"But I am authorized," Sonata said. "Optimus Prime said I could read them! And I thought he was the boss." He tipped up his chin. "You worship him."

"It's not like that—" the one holding him started (Bumblebee?), but he was silenced by Magnus's look. Sonata made sure he looked the officer right in his optics.

"Valuable books such as this must be treasured," Magnus said. He seemed to be standing as tall as possible, intent on swamping Sonata's little frame. "Not made into playthings for children. I assume Optimus permitted you to read them—not cart them all back." He glanced at Sonata's desk, empty besides his neat stacks of datapads. "This cannot be all that's missing."

Sonata looked away. The femme spoke up again. "Sir, I'm sure he's just moved them...really. I don't think he meant any harm."

"Oh, I know he didn't." Sonata tilted his head in confusion, and Magnus turned his gaze to Arcee. "But he must follow archive regulations if he is to-"

"He doesn't know them!" Her tone was impatient, and he turned in time to see her shoulders shift—she had held herself back from throwing up her hands. Her irritation prickled Sonata's plating. "With all due respect, Ultra Magnus, this was unnecessary. We'll speak to Optimus about getting him clearance."

Magnus looked at her as if she'd grown another head. The distrust he radiated was oddly reassuring—it was a sensible emotion, for an Autobot. "Arcee, may I remind you of his faction. He is a Decepticon—"

"And I'm a bulldozer." Arcee had set her hands on her hips, optics narrowed. "No brand."

"And even if he had it, he's just a kid," Bumblebee said. "Uh, sir."

Finally, he set Sonata down. Right away Sonata scrambled for his berth, the furthest corner possible from these Autobots.

"Go away," he said. "I won't touch more of your stupid books."

He ached to message Laserbeak, to hear her in his head teasing about stupid, stiff Autobots and their ways. Ultra Magnus opened his mouth, as if to respond, but Arcee shook her head. After a beat of silence, they left, the swirl of emotions going with them. He glanced at the camera (poorly hidden, of course—had they really expected Soundwave's child not to see it?) and shook in peace, face covered.

Optimus came later, of course. Sonata had moved, only enough to retrieve a book from his pile. The Prime was apologetic, and Sonata did his best to have none of it.

"The commotion of earlier was unnecessary," he said. "I am…sorry, Sonata. Your keycard has the correct clearance now."

Sonata stiffened. It was a long moment before he turned his head, staring hard at the Prime.

"I never told you my name," he said. Infuriatingly, he was hoarse.

Optimus nodded. "You are in the crew roster of Megatron's warship," he said. "You let on your parentage, Sonata of the Nemesis, but not your designation."

Half of his parentage. Sonata had screamed enough for Soundwave when he was first captured, that the connection would have been easy to make. (What an embarrassment he had been, yelling weakly, hoarse from thirst and begging for his carrier. He had gotten better about that.)

"Did you find my sire's name, too?" he asked glumly. "Not that it matters." Megatron was dead. The fact didn't bother him, but being Megatron's son amongst Autobots did.

"We do not choose where we come from," Optimus said. His voice was softer. "What matters, Sonata, is where we go from there."

Sonata looked away, at his datapad. "Far away from here. That's where I'm going."

Optimus closed his door with a click. In the downshift, Sonata went for more datapads. He even returned some he had finished to the appropriate slot, before sneaking back out with his new acquisitions. No alarms blare. A few days later, it had become apparent that they would not go off again, and Sonata found a wide window to sit in. His room had none, but here he could see the Nemesis moored some ways away, and Cybertron's moons behind it. He could feel a bit less locked in.

The sound of big footsteps, behind the nearest shelf, startled him out of the Primal Vanguard's last stand. He pulled his knees up to his chest in disgust, and wondered if he could safely get to the exit before he was noticed.

The Prime turned the corner before he could even plan his route, of course, with a datapad balanced in one hand and…a cart, wheeling squeakily behind him. He didn't notice Sonata as he glanced at it, then reached out to it for another book. With great care, he had found its place on the shelf and set it between its shelfmates. Sonata recognized it—he had returned that story a week before.

Optimus looked up, and Sonata bolted.

He ran into him often after that. He wasn't looking for Sonata, not really—he was sorting, like a librarian. Didn't he have grunts to do his archiving work? Soundwave had done his share of menial tasks, but never in the open. He had had appearances to keep up. Optimus seemed unconcerned with others' judgment, how his inferiors might feel. He even seemed content, not out of his element in the least.

After the first few times, Sonata stopped running. Prime radiated calm in the records hall. No emotional intensity to make his head ache and his fear deepen-but he still got more creative with his reading nooks.

Even if Optimus hadn't seen him, he would speak. It confused Sonata, but try as he might he couldn't talking about what he was putting away. What Sonata might like.

"It's a shame that I haven't found Glyph's stories about the Primal Vanguard," Optimus said one morning. Sonata was atop a shelf, just out of sight from any of them. "I found them engrossing as a young mech. But I have not been through all of the sections yet."

Slowly, Sonata leaned over the shelf's edge. Optimus didn't turn from what he was doing, but it couldn't be an accident that he was still in this aisle.

"They were in the science section," Sonata said. Optimus paused, and finally looked over. Sonata sat firm. "Not sorted. I'm only halfway through the series."

The Prime nodded. "Do you have a favourite character?"

Taken aback, Sonata found himself thinking about it. Before he could stop himself, he'd opened his mouth in reply.

"I like Cyclonus," he said. "He's more interesting than Galvatron-they're such opposites."

Optimus smiled. Sonata felt…something, in his tanks, something disconcerting. He should have jumped down and run back to his room. Instead he kept still, waiting for his reply.

"Characters like Cyclonus are called a foil," he said. His voice was soft. "Galvatron is written as very outgoing and hot-headed, whereas Cyclonus is calm and collected. They play off one another's strengths."

Sonata nodded. He didn't say out loud that Soundwave had also stood firm through Megatron's every outburst, how he had been collected when Lord Megatron was all fire. How he had never wavered, even at a cost. "Am I in trouble for taking those?"

"No," Optimus said. "I'm pleased to hear we have that series." He tilted his head, looking Sonata up and down. His spark quavered briefly, but Optimus only stood back, returning to his sorting. "Use the ladder next time you climb up."

Sometimes other Autobots came in, but never for very long. They never came in far enough to see Sonata, which was fine by him. If he heard his name, or a Decepticon's, he crept closer to listen.

"Have you seen how many books he takes out? I don't think I've read that many in my whole life, forget that age!"

"There's not much for him to do," Arcee said. "Can't say I blame him for hiding out in fiction."

Nothing about them lately had been malicious—in fact, Sonata was left alone by everyone but Optimus. He longed to be able to open a comm and get even an acknowledging ping. His plating itched for contact, for Soundwave's comfort and Laserbeak's closeness. Being apart was fine by him. Alone was exhausting.

More footsteps tramping in made Sonata tense. The shift in the room's feelings was palpable, and Sonata knew Ultra Magnus's heavy steps. Heavier still were Bulkhead's behind him, and Sonata hopped down from his window, tucking his book against his chest and darting for a corner.

"Where is he?" Magnus said. The footsteps had paused, and Sonata pulled up his knees—they were probably between his favourite shelves, too close to the books he loved best.

"Haven't seen him. He only moves between here, his room, and the washrack," Bumblebee said. "Optimus keeps us posted."

"He really is harmless, sir," Smokescreen said. "He's just a bitlet. On the small side for that, too." Sonata narrowed his optics—he could be a security risk, if he wanted!—and Magnus huffed. Someone's feet scuffed the floor.

"I understand that," Magnus said. "I'd like him to remain harmless, for all our safety."

Ultra Magnus, Sonata had decided, was not to be trusted. None of them were, but Magnus couldn't even trust his own small team to work efficiently, an impossibility aboard his old home. Soundwave could see everything, but he expected things to run smoothly without supervision. Magnus pried. He liked the control, and Sonata planned to stay out of it.

"That shouldn't be an issue though, right?" Bumblebee said. There was nervousness there—Sonata could feel it from his corner. "I mean, he's so young. We'll have to raise him, after—"

"We're soldiers," Magnus said flatly. "I am looking into suitable guardians, as I do not feel that our current arrangement can continue."

Sonata bristled. He didn't need a guardian, or for these Autobots to check in on him. He had one, of course. He just couldn't get to him right now.

"He'll need an education," Arcee said. "He'll need someone to look after him. Optimus wants-"

"I know what Optimus wants," Magnus said. Sonata detected an edge, on his voice and his feelings, and tensed. "And I will continue to argue with Optimus about his decision."

"You'd better be careful, talking like that," Smokescreen said. His voice was lower now. "He hangs out in here every day. Sir."

"You're correct, soldier." There was the sound of big arms folding. "That will be for another day."

Sonata couldn't help but lean out, just slightly. If they had wanted to gossip about him, why here? This was his haunt, sometimes Prime's. And even his sire's mortal enemy knew not to disturb him too terribly.

Arcee seemed to have had the same idea. "We should continue this in the briefing room, sir. With Optimus present. He's protective of the little guy."

Those diminutive names would get tiring soon. He'd rather be starsong, than bitlet, or little guy. Optics too bright, Sonata leaned further, just enough to see the edges of Bumblebee's doorwings.

"I'm sure he's listening," Magnus said, and Sonata shivered. "I worry about him. At this age, sparks can be moulded, but I worry about how much of his parents is in him. Soundwave's aptitudes would be useful to us, but his sire..."

There was a palpable, uncomfortable shift, and it hit Sonata like a wave. He rocked on his heels and blinked hard. If Ultra Magnus wanted him to listen, than listen he would. He would do Soundwave proud.

"Sires don't matter that much," Smokescreen said. "I had one. He was an architect, and look at me!"

"When your sire is the great slagmaker, soldier, it matters," Magnus said, solemn. Sonata thought of Megatron's wild optics, and the sickly purple tinge of dark energon. He thought of how afraid he had been for Soundwave, standing so close to that dangerous form so often. He wondered if he could even feel that kind of rage.

Soundwave would have told him it was alright. He would have called Sonata his starsong, and been held close as Soundwave held no one else. Laserbeak would have teased him until he'd forgotten all these terrible words, these implications. His hands twitched.

"What are you saying?" he heard Arcee say. Suddenly she sounded much farther away than before. "Sir."

"I am saying," Magnus said, that same warped distance from Sonata, "that I will not allow a second great slagmaker. You all understand-"

Sonata didn't hear the rest, though he was sure those kind-sparked Autobots would have protested. Maybe Magnus had been kind-sparked too, once, before bitterness curled in him and made him afraid. Sonata imagined freedom-fighters, and gladiators, and the people Megatron had killed. He ran.

Somehow he remembered the exit, though he had not gone near it in all these weeks. He shoved past the door, which was damaged and opened manually, and stumbled out into Cybertron's moonlit ruin. He kept running, even as the cold swirled around him, until he stumbled, dragging himself under the awning of some old monument. Some statues of Senators, the very things Autobots fought for and his slagmaker sire despised.

Under the constellations, the Nemesis looming, Sonata sobbed. The cold bit his plating and he shivered, curling up in his hiding place. Again and again, he pinged comms that would never answer him, his optics flickering with each hiccup and sob and knowing he would never feel warm again.

Being alone, as well as apart, was worse than being dead. If Soundwave was in the Afterspark, Sonata wanted to be there, too, because it would be with him, would be warm and awash in purple light. His digits grew numb, and his optics dimmed. Again, he pinged their comms. It was harder now, with his systems so sluggish and the cold wind biting his plating. Sonata's optics dimmed, and his sensors went with them. It took him far too long to realize he hadn't chosen to do so.

The massive arms around him barely registered. The warmth was instant, though, and Sonata felt the wind cut out around him as they closed in. He was lifted, and he remembered cold mornings aboard the ship, cozy against his carrier's chest and Laserbeak's weight between them. A deep voice soothed him, and blunt fingers stroked his cheek, but Sonata didn't register to whom they belonged.

He didn't wake up in his room. He stirred slowly, in a berth much bigger than his own and a room much smaller than his. Sonata blinked around in confusion, sitting up on his elbows. There was hardly space to step, from berth to desk to door. He wondered what Laserbeak would say—something snarky, about a supply closet turned barrack, right after she'd nosed his shoulder to get him in on her joke.

Sonata felt Optimus's presence before he saw him, and he had to will himself to stiffen, so he could sit up straight and pull his thermoblanket around him. It was all concern pulsing back, a feeling that prickled him without real discomfort. The Prime's back was turned, sitting on the berth's other edge, and Sonata watched him shift as he heard him sit up.

"Am I in trouble?" Sonata asked. He was surprised by the hoarseness of his own voice.

Optimus turned and met his optics. The same Iacon blue as Sonata's, and glittering bright. "No," he said softly. "We are only glad you're safe."

"You are, maybe," Sonata said. "Ultra Magnus would be relieved if I was gone." He wasn't looking at him now, but at a shelf against the next wall. The adventure titles seemed to draw Sonata to them, authors he had read over and over.

"Ultra Magnus must learn to adjust." Optimus stiffened as he spoke, and Sonata felt the change. He said nothing in response, and Optimus sighed. "I am sorry, Sonata. That was not for you to hear, but-"

"Soundwave heard everything," Sonata snapped. "He knew everything, and nobody as old as you should be stupid enough to talk like you're not being watched. He-" his voice cracked, and he was furious because it couldn't, not in front of this mech. He took in a deep, rattling intake, and Prime stayed silent.

"He didn't think I was a monster," Sonata whispered. "He loved me. You all think he didn't feel—anything, but just because Megatron..."

The rest of the words wouldn't come, and Sonata couldn't stop his sobs, his shaking shoulders. When he was pulled close he didn't resist, shuddering against the hand on the back of his neck. He remembered having his optic knocked from his face, and the real monster, one who had ignited his spark and been willing to take it away.

Sonata cried until his tanks churned, and by the time he had begun to calm, his face was sticky with coolant and he had found himself held in the Prime's lap. He started to push away, but the grip was light. He could leave any time he wanted, and to his disappointment Sonata found he wanted to stay in place. Hastily, he wiped his optics with one wrist.

"You've been lonely," Optimus said softly. Sonata's shoulders stiffened.

"Of course," he said, and his voice was still that hoarse whisper. "I want my carrier. I want Laserbeak, I just—I want to go home."

If he'd felt an ounce of pity from him, Sonata told himself, he would have bolted back to his room, to cry in peace. It was almost unbearable that he couldn't find any, because an ounce of distrust or discomfort could have been an excuse. It felt good to be looked after.

"If there was a way, Sonata," Optimus said, and only now did Sonata find an edge in his voice, "if there was a way I could give you back your family..." A long pause, and Sonata knew that those optics, clear and bright, were on him. "I would not hesitate. I promise you."

Sonata sagged. After a long moment, he lifted his head, craning his neck to look up at the Prime's form. "Do you think he's dead?"

The big hand on him squeezed his shoulder. "I hope not," Optimus said. "It would please me to see you reunited."

"I don't think it would please Ultra Magnus," Sonata said. "Or...Autobots in general. You haven't even let Knock Out out, and—and he's not so bad."

"He's asked after you," Optimus said. His mouth twitched. "And made some very creative threats against my mechs, if he discovered you were unsafe." There was almost a smile on the Prime's face as he said it, like it was a funny thought.

Well, Sonata certainly wasn't in harm's way. And it was...reassuring, to know Knock Out wanted him safe. Not even close to what he really wanted, but still better. "He's a good doctor. It's too bad you're all Autobots."

"Indeed," Optimus said. Gently, he lifted Sonata aside, setting him back on the berth so he could stand. Sonata pulled his thermoblanket back around his shoulders as he watched the Prime stretch. "I have several briefings that need outlining. You are welcome to stay and rest."

Sonata looked around as Optimus stepped towards the desk. Was this where the leader of the Autobots, the very last Prime, recharged and energized? It was hardly a closet. Soundwave had told him that Megatron's chambers spanned several rooms, with everything he might want for.

"Don't you want a bigger room?" he found himself asking. "The room I stay in is twice this size."

Optimus paused. The corner of his mouth twitched. "The medical bay and groundbridge are adjacent. And I have never felt comfortable taking up unnecessary space."

Sonata couldn't imagine Lord Megatron doing anything but taking up the most space. Slowly, he shed his thermoblanket and slid down from the berth, and was satisfied to see an energon cache set beneath it. Deciding he wouldn't ask permission, he reached in for a cube, the hunger gnawing suddenly. Optimus said nothing, easing into his desk chair, and Sonata took a long drink. He settled in on the floor of that closet-room, sipping from his cube and watching Optimus pore over datapads. He tried not to feel comfortable.

This was survival, after all.

* * *

 

"I've been thinking," Optimus said, taking the last datapad from Sonata.

This was busywork for him, handing off the correct file in between sentences. He could get through a page almost as quickly, even looking up at the box to help sort. He liked to keep his hands busy, when he spent time like this. "I thought Primes were always thinking."

Optimus smiled. (Sonata had been catching a lot of those. Fleeting but real.) "Yes. I suppose we are."

"Do you need my opinion?" Sonata asked, sticking a Nominus biography onto the shelf behind him. "I won't go easy on you, Autobot."

"I don't expect you to," Optimus said. Today he was all warmth. He paused, turning his bulk towards Sonata. So this was important, and he chose to look up at him, meeting the Prime's optics. At some point they had stopped unnerving him, and at first that had frightened Sonata. Hating Autobots had been so easy. "It's the matter of what to do with you, little one."

"Don't call me that," Sonata said, automatic. There were still flaws in this arrangement, of course. The affection would only go so far.

Optimus ignored him, turning a datapad over in his hands. He was quiet for a moment, and Sonata focused on his unease.

"I have enjoyed our time together," he said carefully. "I have already spoken to my team, and my second, and a consensus has been made about your potential and well-being."

"Do I get a say?" Sonata asked, interrupting. He imagined Soundwave chiding him, because not only was this impolite, reading people was harder if they were cut off. "In my well-being?"

"I would not have it any other way," Optimus said. Now he had gone grave, and Sonata bit down on his own unease. "If you wish, you may continue living as you have been. Free access to the base, the records hall, and my team keeping an optic on your safety." Optimus shifted his weight, and his optics darted. Sonata was so surprised that he paid close attention. "But it's my opinion that you are too valuable to simply leave uneducated."

Sonata's tanks churned, and scenarios raced through his processor. There were space stations and small colonies, places they could send a Decepticon child to keep him out of the way. Better to stay here, where Soundwave could look for him. Alone and apart.

"I'd like to stay, then," he said quickly. "Keep leaving me alone. I need to—I need to stay in the same place. I'll learn by myself."

Optimus regarded him for another long moment. "I am almost finished, Sonata," he said gently. His faceplates burned with embarrassment, and he clamped his mouth shut. "A legal guardian for you would mean a proper education, with an experienced mech. You would not have to leave, and your value is too great to leave you to grow up alone."

Sonata felt a wave a nausea. His shoulders tensed, and his mental walls went up, trying and failing to block everything Optimus was implying. He dropped his book with a clatter and stood. Behind him, he felt the press of the shelf, the corners of datapads.

"Soundwave is my guardian," he said, all the suspicion of his first weeks rushing back. "He's my carrier. I'm not replacing him."

"I am not suggesting that," Optimus said softly. His words were gentle, annoyingly soothing. "What did I promise you, Sonata?"

He looked up. "That if there was a way to save my family, you would help me. And that you think there might be."

Optimus nodded. His optics were sad, and Sonata felt an odd jolt in his spark. "I would like to keep you safe until we find that way," he said. He leaned down slowly, crouching to Sonata's eye level. "I will not have you go uneducated, or treated poorly because of your origin. I would be honoured to continue getting to know you."

Sonata stared at him. The moment between them was long, and silent, and slowly Sonata reached down to get his dropped datapad. His fingers brushed the screen, relieved to find it unmarked. "I don't want to be an Autobot," he said softly.

Optimus Prime, leader of the Autobots, the enduring symbol of that cause, shook his head. "I will never ask you to be one. I would like you to be yourself, and to grow up in safety. I-"

At this, Optimus looked away. Sonata tried to make sense of his discomfort. "I knew Soundwave once," he said finally. Sonata looked up with a jolt. "And Megatronus, when he still went by that name. I called them friends. And I would not leave their son parentless because of the war I helped ignite."

This...was not what Sonata had expected. It was the furthest thing from expected, especially from his sire's greatest enemy, the most infuriatingly kind mech he had ever had to deal with. Was this some kind of game? A ruse to make Sonata easy to mould and put aside? He could often tell when people were lying, if they were doing it outright. Despite the Prime's oddness, Sonata found none of that here. Somehow it made him harder to read.

Sonata brightened his optics, waiting for Optimus to meet his again. In the weeks since the Prime had carried him in from the cold, and Sonata had been comforted, he had allowed time with Optimus, too. He had learned that Optimus rarely recharged, choosing to use his off hours on archiving and quiet work. That he missed reading fiction, and enjoying discussing the classics with Sonata. That his favourite flavour of energon goodie was mercury, and—most important of all—that he was not cruel, or to be feared.

The last part, Sonata found, was the hardest to bear.

"This is temporary," Sonata said finally, softly. Optimus finally turned towards him. Sonata tipped his chin up, ever proud. "When I find Soundwave—or Soundwave finds me—you go away, forever."

The Prime nodded slowly, solemnly, and Sonata wondered how far back he would step. "Your carrier is important to you," he said. "I know."

Sonata's spark jolted with pain, but he ignored it. "I don't think he'd like that I spend time with you," he went on, "but I kind of like to. He and Laserbeak didn't like the same books."

At that, Optimus smiled. "I find that our tastes align. Megatronus and I would often get off track in our meetings and discuss the classics."

Sonata tensed. He didn't want to share tastes with him. But somehow he doubted that Megatron had read fiction in some time, and he guessed that it wasn't a sign of future problems.

"I just finished a good one," he said, after a long moment. "It was a short volume. Legends of the Metrotitans."

"Did you?" Optimus said, his optics twinkling. He stood up, and reached again for their cart. After a moment, Sonata sat down again pulled his datapad back into his lap. "That was on my 'to-read' list before my life changed most drastically. Orion Pax had been looking forward to it."

"You missed out," Sonata said. "There's twelve short stories, one for each colony ship, and where they might have ended up."

"You will have to tell me all about it, then," Optimus said. "First: moving to section A for this next batch..."

Sonata settled on the cart, surrounded by books, to be pushed. Survival could be comfortable. He could like it, even, until he was safe again with Soundwave. He was safe now, too, and he knew affection when he felt it. The guilt curled on the edges of his spark pressed down, and Sonata pushed it away.

He'd so hated being alone.

It turned out that Optimus did have a spacious office, but that he seemed to prefer the desk in his closet-room. But the view from its massive window was lovely, and it had a seat, where Sonata settled comfortably the first time Optimus brought him in. As the Prime sifted through his work, and spoke quietly on comm, he read. He started in on some histories, too, the real stories of Cyclonus and Galvatron and the others aboard the Ark-1.

The stares were hardest. He didn't have to speak to the other Autobots, or even acknowledge them, but their optics bored into him when the two of them passed by. He got no apologies from Magnus (he hadn't expected one) and didn't answer Smokescreen when he was asked how his day was going.

Optimus was often gone, on patrols or training exercises, but there was plenty on time to be on the base together, to tell him about Sonata's latest read. Decepticon activity was at an all-time low, they said. Optimus was needed on base, to keep reconstruction running smoothly and his team in check. Sonata still spent plenty of time in the records hall, curled up alone in a reading nook. The only difference was that there was someone to greet later, almost like home. Less weight on his spark, in spite of his best efforts.

One morning, sipping energon in the office, Optimus looked up at him.

"Knock Out has asked after you," he said, setting his cube down. "I see no reason not to show him you are safe."

Sonata nodded, and his spark sank. He could say no, but Knock Out would make a scene. It would be better to just get his little betrayal over with, and so he set his cube down to follow Optimus, outside and into the hold of the Nemesis.

"You are alright?" Optimus asked in a soft voice. Sonata nodded, optics narrowed and his arms folded close. Being home reminded him of what home no longer offered. He wondered what they'd done to Soundwave's things, and shivered.

"Well!" Knock Out said from behind the bars, when Sonata stepped gingerly into view. "Someone I'm genuinely pleased to see. I worked hard on that frame, you know. They're not treating it poorly?"

"I have my own washrack," Sonata said, and Knock Out smiled. His wrists were cuffed, and his paint chipped in a way that must have been driving him mad. "Optimus said they're not hurting you, but I was..."

"Worried?" Knock Out supplied. "I'm flattered. I'm well enough, not counting the paint job." He tapped his cuffs against the bars, making a face. "The nature of being a prisoner. Remind the Prime of our prisoner rights, mm? I hear you've gotten cozy up there."

Sonata stiffened. He felt his faceplates heating up, and tried to ignore his unease. "They said I needed a guardian," he said quickly.

"Mm, I suppose you do," Knock Out said. "You look taken care of. If Soundwave comes back, he'll appreciate it."

"He will," Sonata said firmly. "He'll be back as soon as he can."

Knock Out didn't look like he believed it, with that rueful smile and his dimmed optics, but Sonata didn't care. It wasn't as if he'd known Soundwave well.

Optimus set his hand on Sonata's shoulder as they left the ship. Sonata's spark didn't clench, and he didn't shove it away.

"What did you do with my carrier's things?" he asked quietly. "All of his books?"

Optimus looked down. "I marked them," he said. "They're being combed for useful information, but I can return them to you if you wish."

A lump in his throat forced Sonata only to nod. The next night, a stack of familiar datapads appeared in his room. When Soundwave came home, or when Sonata found him, he would show him that his books were safe—raided or not, they were with him. Soundwave would not have expected him to protect the information inside. They went next to the ones engraved with his name, Sonata's most important pile. Around those worn volumes, he felt his carrier's presence—for now it had to be enough.

Sonata grew comfortable.

Complacent, he decided later. He should have known that good things never lasted. Especially not Autobot-built good things, ones taken in good (if reluctant) faith. He should have known better than to be taken in.

He'd started to allow quick strokes of his helm, a hand on his shoulder. Optimus never locked the door on Sonata the way he sometimes did to his troops. And on days where Sonata shuddered at the touch, or hid himself away, Optimus now knew not to disturb him. It seemed that he'd asked the rest of the Autobots not to bother him, either, because Sonata's days were more peaceful. He could walk past the more talkative bots without dreading a good morning or a how are you, kid? (What had happened to just leaving him alone?)

Very rarely, if the Prime was feeling truly gentle, Sonata would hear something about Soundwave and Megatron when they were young. Before the war, and well before Sonata was even a thought. He held those tiny stories close, imagining a Soundwave less lithe, who still spoke often and was enthralled by the thought of an equal Cybertron.

Being separated had been the first mistake. Sonata should have guessed.

Optimus had to go off-planet, he said. With Wheeljack, a mech who had always kept his distance from Sonata. "To truly end the war, there's something to be retrieved," Optimus had said, solemn and entirely a Prime.

Sonata had shrugged it off and stepped back. "There must be things to learn on the trip," he said, spark thrumming with discomfort. Optimus was apologetic, of course, smiling softly at him.

"And dangers," he said. "You will be looked after until I'm home."

Sonata had gone back to days alone in the records hall. Sometimes the office, too, where he could sit in the window seat and see out the direction the little ship had left in.

He thought little of Magnus getting hurt—in fact, a Decepticon scuffle gave him hope. For the first time, he tugged at another Autobot's hand.

"Was it Soundwave?" he asked Arcee, knowing the hope in his voice was obvious. She looked shocked at him for a split second, before shaking her head.

"Of course not," she said, like it was obvious. "He-"

She was cut off before Sonata could work through that.

"Take him to the medical bay," Ratchet said, stepping out into view. Sonata stiffened instantly.

"I thought you went to Earth," he blurted out. Arcee was already turning him another room (and she was strong, for such a little bot).

"Magnus needed me," Ratchet said. His optics glowed cold, but he couldn't hide how frazzled he was, not from Sonata. "Decepticon activity, naturally. And you ought to be safe from it."

He tried to protest—he was a Decepticon, Prime's foster kid or not, and they wouldn't hurt him! This wasn't true, and they all knew it (Starscream had always been jealous, and one of Soundwave's rules was to stay clear of Shockwave), but Optimus wasn't here, and he could be ornery if he pleased.

Still, it ended with Sonata in the Prime's tiny room, sulking over one of Optimus's worn volumes and wondering why Ratchet's things were now on the berth. He didn't ask, of course—he didn't care to know why the old medic would be taking up space here. Ratchet worked, and Sonata read, until his optics were flickering and he dozed off on the berth.

He woke to the obvious sounds of battle, a groundbridge closing—and the soft click of the room's external lock. Sonata's spark twisted.

"Hey!" he yelled, pounding the door with his fists. "Hey! I'm not a prisoner! Your Prime said I'm not a prisoner!"

He kept shouting, until he was screaming, and Magnus's muffled voice told him to hush. The screams cracked into sobs, and he shuddered, finally sinking against the door.

He should have run. He would have died, but maybe Soundwave was already dead, and at least together, they could be warm in the Well.

Sonata drifted in and out of recharge, curled tight against the door and losts in half-dreams. Laserbeak curled around him, Soundwave's six bright optics, Optimus's strong arms. At some point, in the downshift, he pulled himself up and made his way towards the berth. Curled up on it, with a thermoblanket over his head, he really did sleep.

He woke to the door unlocking, and everything over with.

It was embarrassing how fast he rushed for Optimus, but nothing was said as he was scooped up, warmth already coursing through his spark.

"You took forever," he said, muffled, into the Prime's plating. Feelings washed over him in waves—Optimus pleased to be home, with him, but tempered, flanked with something dark enough to make them both tense.

"The war is over," Optimus said. Sonata looked up, and almost pushed out of his arms at the sadness in his optics. His Autobots had won, and Cybertron could support life. Where was the joy, the kind Megatron had had at Darkmount's inception?

"You're upset," Sonata said flatly. Optimus blinked.

"I am not, little one," he said.. Optimus was lying, and would never knew how well Sonata knew it. Optimus smiled—which meant nothing, too. "I am at peace. But..."

"What?" Sonata asked. He wiggled, his efforts futile in the Prime's grip. "Tell me!"

"I am sorry," said Optimus softly. Instantly Sonata's head ached, and he winced. How had Soundwave done this with both feelings and thoughts, for all his life? It took so much focus not to make Optimus's sudden, sharp pain his own, that when he looked up they were outside, walking towards the plateau.

Optimus set him down, and bent, doing his best to meet Sonata's gaze. "Recent events have caused me to mislead you," he said, his tone gentle.

Sonata's spark stuttered. "Is Soundwave dead?" he asked, and hated his hoarseness.

Optimus shook his head. "I don't believe so," he said. "I have told you that before. And when I am gone, it should be explained."

"You're not going anywhere, though," Sonata said. To say it out loud would make it true. He knew his optics were too bright, and his venting was ragged, and he didn't care. "You told me you'd stay. The war's over."

Optimus Prime, leader of the Autobots, greatest enemy of his parents, ran a massive hand over Sonata's helm. Sonata felt apology, and regret, and watched as he stood up, stepped away, and announced that the Matrix would revitalize Cybertron. Sonata finally noticed the great hole in the ground, to the Well of All Sparks and Cybertron's beating core

Sonata knew he screamed, but he didn't hear it in his own audials as familiar arms scooped him back up, and held him firm against his chest. He did his level best to kick Knock Out, to scratch his paint, but he was pulled tight against his front and held still, Knock Out whispering furiously for him to be careful. Sonata's scream quickly cracked into sobs, and he turned his head away from Cybertron's rebirth. As if it would do him any good.

"He promised," he whispered, when Knock Out had set him down, holding tight to his wrist and clearly worried he would bolt.. "He said he would stay."

Knock Out, free hand brushing the dents Sonata had left, glanced down at him. He said nothing. Out of the corner of his optic, Sonata registered Ratchet's face in his hands, and Bumblebee's hand on his shoulder. He tried, and failed, to close himself off from all this Autobot grief.

Alone later, apart from them in his room, he realized he would have to get used to this. Megatron's child didn't get luxuries like affection, and love. Not with his carrier gone, and the winning side unwilling to give it. Knock Out, now defected (since when?) seemed concerned, but Sonata felt no real connection. Doctor and patient. The patient, physically, would be well.

It was fine, he told himself. He had been stupid in the first place to think things would be okay. A Prime, of all people. What would Soundwave have thought?

His door opened. Sonata didn't look up as Ratchet stepped in, shutting the door and glancing around Sonata's space. He didn't turn away, or do much of anything.

"How are you feeling?" Ratchet asked stiffly. Everything about him said he didn't know what he was doing, and that would make it easier.

"Go away," Sonata said flatly.

Ratchet bristled easily, to Sonata's satisfaction. He clasped his hands in front of him, and squared his shoulders, stiff as a newly built Vehicon. "It's been decided that it will do you no good to live here alone," he said. "And for—for Optimus's sake, I have agreed to educate you."

Sonata looked up then. "I'm not medical class," was all he could think to say.

"You do have a choice," Ratchet said. He shifted uncomfortably. "Sparklets all have that right. No, you'll not be a doctor if you don't want to be. I would simply monitor your education, as appropriate for your level. Optimus...left documents. They indicate you're advanced." Sonata heard the pain in his voice, felt it in his spark, and registered that he wasn't the only one here betrayed.

Sonata said nothing, waiting only to see what would come next, how long the old doctor would stew there. Ratchet didn't want him. Nobody, not even the doctor who had built his frames, wanted him, and this was only to please the Prime's spirit.

Ratchet finally cracked a few minutes in, Sonata's narrowed optics firm on him. "I leave in the morning," he said. "I'll come get you. You may bring your books."

Sonata didn't respond. He waited until Ratchet sighed, muttered something, and turned away, and for his door to close again to turn towards the wall. A shudder ripped through him, from his spark through to the rest of him.

Sonata of the Nemesis, he thought to himself. Sonata left behind, as soon as he really mattered. Ratchet's patience wouldn't last long, he guessed, not with his reluctance to take Sonata at all. But he'd have his books, and energon, and resources. What Optimus had failed to tell him about his carrier, he would find out. An advanced student found answers.

They would be together. For now, he prepared for being alone. Apart.


	2. Ravage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ravage is the one who doesn't leave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was a little worried I'd never update this, but I really wanted to get this done so I can get to the last, very important harmony in Sonata's life :) There's a couple more characters besides Optimus and Ravage I'd like to do this for, but I don't know when and I'm impatient. Maybe one day! Thanks so much for reading, folks.

Ravage woke up and clawed the first face he saw.

The face wasn't Soundwave's (obviously, because Soundwave would never _show_ his face) and Ravage hadn't felt the least bit guilty, awake and energized and already scrambling for cover. It had been a long time, and he needed somewhere safe, for his systems to regroup and to contact his master. He'd always made a poor prisoner, and that was why he was the best scout.

The alien planet, all its dust and soft earth, managed to throw him off. Just long enough that the Autobot medic could snatch him, and sedate him, and all went black again.

He was restrained when he woke next. The strange face was still there—now with a tidy weld through their cheek—and Ravage got a better look. Blue, oversized optics, deep blue plating, but familiar features, now that he had nothing better to do than take stock. Small frame, no visible alt mode. Leaning with their elbows on the berth, fearless despite their last encounter.

Ravage shifted, uselessly, in his restraints. _What are you looking at?_

He'd expected a response. Probably something snotty, because the bot looked young. He was floored when what he got was Soundwave's old missions code, asking _are you really Ravage of Stanix?_

He flicked his ears back, his optics nearly white from shock. _Who taught you that?_

The Autobots had never cracked that. Soundwave had stopped using that code in the early part of the Exodus, except between symbiotes. The little mech looked away, before sending another line of that affectionate code.

_My carrier._

Ravage didn't tease out this story in small parts. There was no need. He quizzed him first, to make sure (and a spy knew from what angles information had to be pressed) but it had only taken that answer, in that code, to convince him. When Sonata told him about Soundwave's six purple optics, Ravage's spark thrummed so hard he thought the casing would crack. With amazement, even joy—but guilt, too. Half a second online and he had wounded the only person that still mattered.

What a musical, gentle name. Sonata. Peaceful and rolling, things Soundwave and the cause had never been. But he must have found some gentleness here, spark so close to this little mech. Sonata had seen the war end before he could be hardened, beaten into shape, and it showed.

He had been in the midst of planning their escape, already building an inventory of the shuttles in this base that could reach Soundwave. Wherever he was—surely he and Laserbeak wouldn't have left a sparklet (a Megatron-sired sparklet, no less) to be an Autobot prisoner. Sonata had stopped him. Ravage had smelled his fear, and decided that for now perhaps familiarity was best.

Ravage would have put his loyalty to the cause before staying with Soundwave, too, but it didn't mean his spark didn't still roll in anger when he heard what his master had done. They could have escaped, all _three_ of them, and Soundwave could have fought from a distance. He had before, and if he had _now_ then he wouldn't be-

No, not dead. Missing. Until Ravage saw a body, how could he be certain?

Sonata shook his head at him. "It's fine," he said. "I'm fine. We'll figure this out."

But there wasn't much of "we," not at first, with Sonata locking his door so often and leaving Ravage to curl up elsewhere to recharge. Or to search Ratchet's files for answers, since these days sleep eluded him.

One night he heard noise down the hall, and smelled grief. Laserbeak had told him that you couldn't _smell_ feelings, but Ravage had known, and so had Soundwave. Buzzsaw had said he could go either way, but that there were certain emotions he'd rather Ravage didn't go sniffing. He wondered when Buzzsaw had died. Sonata had made no mention of him aboard the _Nemesis_ , and Ravage hadn't found him in the ship's roster.

He stretched, and paced silently towards Sonata's room.

The sobs were muffled, but if Sonata had been older he would have known better how to silence them. Not that Ravage wouldn't have picked them out anyway, but they were effortless to hear a shed over, and soon he was nosing open the door to Sonata's room.

A pair of bright, blue optics stared at him from the mess of thermoblankets. Those would still take getting used to. Ravage's steps were silent, circling the sparklet. _The floor is a poor berth._

"Oh." Sonata looked up, at the perfectly serviceable berth set up next to them. "I fell off, I guess. I don't sleep well."

_I imagine not._

Ravage could see the shiver in Sonata's plating, how waking up had done little to calm him. In one swift motion, he'd jumped up onto the berth himself, his landing silent. He stretched, and settled into it like he had recharged there all his life. He nodded towards Sonata. _Kittens need their rest. Up._

"I'm not a kitten," Sonata said.

_Sparklets, kits, you're all the same. Recharge properly._

Slowly, Sonata slung his blankets back onto the berth, crawling in under them. He rolled over, away from Ravage, but it was clear he wasn't sleeping. Ravage rested his head, audials dialed up in case of trouble, and was dozing himself when the sobs started again.

Life without Soundwave was lonely. Ravage knew it as well as Sonata must, and his spark continued to reach out for his master, grasping at nothing. He huffed, shaking the sleep out of his systems as he shifted, lying right against Sonata. He nudged his cheek.

"This is weak of me," Sonata managed. His voice was hoarse, and he switched to comm. _I miss him. What if he's dead? What if I'm alone forever?_

Ravage's engines rumbled low. A literal purr, that he saved for Soundwave and the other cassettes, that Sonata had inherited the right to. _Those are hard questions. Do you want to know something?_

_No._ Sonata scowled, furiously wiping coolant from his face.

Ravage rested his head next to Sonata's, purr rumbling through them both. (It didn't only comfort others, after all.) _I miss him too. But you are not alone._

"I will be," Sonata said, out loud again. On a better day, Ravage would get him used to comms again, in this world of speaking out loud. "Everyone leaves. No matter what promises people make, they..."

He shook his head, and shuttered his optics again. Ravage watched him, and wondered, again, what force had kept Soundwave apart from his son. His tail flicked.

_I suppose this is the long haul, then. I will not leave you, my Sonata. One day you'll wake up, and you will believe it._

Sonata huffed, and rolled over, fully away from Ravage. _Whatever._ It didn't bite—what would he be, if he could be offended by an unhappy child? He would do as he'd said, and one day, as he'd promised, Sonata would realize he'd been telling the truth. For now, Ravage settled in, curled around Sonata's frame, and recharged.

From that point on, Sonata's hangar was their room. During the day (if Sonata locked the door, and Ravage chose not to hack it) he would stalk the grass around the mesa, mapping this planet and its wildlife. He respected the Autobot wish to hide from the dominant species, but only for Sonata's sake. Where would he go, if Ravage tried his hand at hunting them? He stuck to the four-legged creatures, and the feathered ones. He wondered if gentle Sonata would be unhappy by the deaths, but was only scolded for tracking in feathers.

"You're a real predator," Sonata teased, optics glittering with mischief. Ravage settled next to Sonata's chair, purring in pleasure. _So you did keep your sense of humour._

Ratchet hated that Ravage was here. Ravage hated him right back, but that was to be expected. He didn't thank him for taking in Sonata. It clearly hadn't been what he'd wanted, and this certainly wasn't where Sonata wanted to be.

Still, Ravage was safe enough, since his presence had turned out valuable. Old security footage revealed meltdowns in Ratchet's presence, and plenty of crying Ravage wasn't there to stop. It made his spark curl in anger—and fear. Where had Soundwave gone? Surely no prison could hold him, and Autobots were bleeding sparks even if one did. Sonata would surely have visitation, or at least his location, if they knew where he was.

When the officers came, Ravage learned nothing new. There was no hope of pretending he was a drone, not with Ratchet's knowledge and Sonata's clear attachment. It was always amusing, seeing the distaste of powerful mechs towards a beast mode. When he messaged them with intelligence and clarity, it boiled their energon even more.

There was no torture. The war had gone on without him for another two million years, and Ravage had no valuable intel to provide. Ultra Magnus didn't seem to expect knowledge of Soundwave's whereabouts, and didn't ask. _That_ was suspicious, but Ravage filed it away. Sonata's relief when he returned to him was worth the trouble.

_Did they tell you anything?_ he asked eagerly. _About our family?_

Ravage said nothing of Sonata's choice of words. He started his motor-revving purr, and decided that maybe it was the right choice anyway. _No, little one. If they know anything, I will find it._

Sonata dimmed his optics. _Good._

He did try (and Primus had better note his effort) but the human datanets were truly primitive. When he did reach classified files, they were often (intentionally?) degraded once they reached Ravage. Ratchet seemed to ignore his explorations, which should have made this easy.

_It disturbs me,_ he said to Ratchet one day, _that you keep that little mech from his carrier._

Ratchet glanced at him briefly—then returned to his work (repairing a part, perhaps? His only patient was Sonata), as if Ravage had not spoken.

"I'm not keeping him from anyone," Ratchet said. "If anyone offered to take him, and he wanted to go, I wouldn't hold him back. And, cat, I'm not keeping Soundwave from him."

Ravage's ears flicked. _Then where is he? He's not dead, I know that much._

"I suppose the symbiont bond would tell you so," Ratchet said, sounding wholly uninterested. "Soundwave, as you can see, is not here. If he can get back, he can see his son."

Ravage carefully flicked his tail as he jumped down—the perfect method to knock down several of the old medic's tools, and cause him to swear in anger.

"Ravage! I _needed_ that!"

Yes, and Sonata needed his carrier. If Ravage was honest with himself, so did he. He couldn't kill the medic, not if he wanted his charge safe, and there was no guarantee he could make it to a ship with Sonata before

_They're hiding_ something,was all Ravage could report back. Even that he watered down, trying to take Sonata's age into consideration. There were files that had been deliberately degraded, by the time they filtered down, and Ravage could smell deception. Sonata hadn't caught on, not so young as he was, but he would.

"I know they're hiding _something,_ " was all Sonata had said. Often, he hardly looked up from his latest book—though his hand reached out to scratch behind Ravage's ear. "It doesn't matter until we know it can get Soundwave."

_No knowledge for knowledge's sake?_

"I don't need Autobot files for that," Sonata had said. "Not until I get through this shipment."

If there was one thing Ratchet _was_ good for, it was buying Sonata books. What else did he have to entertain him, beyond a few simple datapad games and the two mechs who shared this base? A new set or series found its way to them at least every month, and the days they were opened were when he saw Sonata brightest. Ravage himself had little shanix, and what he kept would be for their journey away.

_There'll be no new shipment if you don't start organizing these ones._ Ravage _was_ rather tired of stepping around books, as much joy as they brought his charge. That was one more thing he and Ratchet could agree on—so he didn't cause trouble when the old medic lugged in a box, labelled with an image of a shelf.

"Come and help me, Sonata," he called, and it was with impressive reluctance that the sparklet eased himself up...and Ravage settled in, to make sure Ratchet didn't try anything funny.

A half-hour later and one quarter of the thing built, Sonata flopped backwards. Ravage's optics, dimmed in boredom, flicked back online.

"This is stupid," he moaned. "Call a Vehicon, if you want it done so bad."

"Your shelf, my idea," Ratchet groused, fussing with a part. "We build it. There's no need to waste others' time."

"There's still Vehicons who haven't got names, I _know_ there are." Sonata was bordering on whining, but Ravage had never scolded him. Why not let him cause an Autobot trouble? Now, though, he flicked one optic on brighter. "On the _Nemesis,_ they did everything, and-"

_-and it was something Soundwave never approved of,_ Ravage snapped. Sonata paused, and Ratchet looked up too. He had sent that to both of them, intentionally. _Soundwave did his own cleaning and filled his own energon cache, and I'm sure you're old enough to recall it. Are you a spoiled Seeker?_

Sonata scowled, looking down at the mess of parts. "Soundwave didn't care, though," he said after a moment. "Not everyone's that important."

He looked pointedly at Ratchet, and he must have thought Ravage would approve of his bad behaviour. Perhaps he should have started scolding earlier. Instead he stood up, arching his back as he stretched, and let his optics flash.

_I am a frame without hands, or a vocalizer. People thinking I was unimportant is the reason for this whole monstrous war, and you should know better. I'm disappointed, Sonata._

His charge stared at him, disbelieving. Ravage almost didn't believe himself that he would be siding with _Ratchet,_ but what else was there to do?

"...He's very correct," Ratchet said finally, sitting back. "Exactly what I had been saying. You're not better than any Vehicon, nor are you better than Ravage."

"I didn't say-"

Sonata closed his mouth just as quickly, in a thin line. Then, with a black look Ravage's way, he had stalked off, slamming the door behind him as hard as he could. Ravage could smell his embarrassment, and relaxed again, with a sigh. Very purposefully, he flicked his tail—against a screw Ratchet had forgotten, and until now Ravage had been happy to leave in its place.

Ratchet stared for a moment, but took the part, slowly, and began to fit it into one of the slots. "I suppose to truly make the lesson stick, I should leave him to build this blasted thing."

_Then I'll be stepping on books forever._ Ravage had closed his optics again. _You're his guardian, not his servant. It's quite different._

"And I'll not be putting away his books for him." Already the process was going faster (well, pieces were fitting together in a way that looked correct). "I'll have to nag."

_Oh, I'm very good at that. I_ was _a voice of reason once, believe it or not._

"Hmph. I'll expect you to, cat."

He still didn't like him. Later that night, when Sonata returned to curl around Ravage, he thought nothing of the old doctor and whatever nonsense reasons he kept a sparklet around for. Instead he purred loudly at Sonata's murmured apology, pleased that he could smell real remorse.

"Don't fight too much with Ratchet," Sonata said sleepily. "It's not worth it."

_Oh, I know,_ Ravage said. _But I don't believe I was the one doing the fighting today._

_Never mind. Help me put my books away?_

_Well, because you asked so_ nicely. _Lazy child._

They dozed late into the day. Ravage stopped deliberately knocking Ratchet's things over, and Ratchet stopped grumbling when he saw him. When humans visited one day, their chatter so rapid and close to the floor, Ravage even took Sonata out on the mesa. A little sun was good for the plating, and no aliens need know about Decepticons in their midst. Sonata ran back and forth, even grinned, as Ravage sunned himself and watched the little mech be the child he was supposed to.

That old doctor had better have been grateful for it.

Of course, good things rarely lasted. Sonata knew it, though Ravage tried not to indulge in the pessimism. One night coughing woke him, right in his audial, and it was so loud and ragged that Ravage wondered how he had not heard it earlier. Surely things never got that bad, that fast?

No, he corrected himself. They were Cybertronian. Of course they could.

"I'm fine," Sonata whispered. His hoarse voice shuddered in Ravage's audial, and he nosed his charge's cheek.

_You are not._

"Get me energon?"

Ravage rushed past piles of datapads (as they cleaned up some, Sonata simply found more) and found, to his relief, that their cache wasn't yet emptied. When Sonata tried to sit up and drink it he fell back, shivering, and Ravage had to hold it in place so he could get a few sips.

_You are not well. Rest now._

He wondered if sparklets were more prone to this sort of thing—he could count on one paw the number of times Soundwave or the others had been ill, and they had all been from the Kaon pits or chemical warfare. Laserbeak had had a whole frame overhaul from that acid rain, after all. But he had never heard a rattling, harsh cough like the one Sonata tried to hide against his arm. His frame was too hot to the touch, and Ravage pulled their nest of thermoblankets aside.

He turned towards the door, and thought about the doctor in their midst. The best doctor ever forged on Cybertron, if he were honest, and one who would probably know what to do.

Then Sonata's hand shot out and gripped Ravage's paw, a cough guttering out into a sob. Ravage set his head back down. This was not a death rattle. And how could he leave him? Everyone, all Sonata's short life, had left.

Ravage did not doze, but the hours blurred together as Sonata did, for a day and a night. One moment he was stroking Ravage's ears, sending frightened comms, and the next his optics were wide and bright, unknowing.

"Soundwave," he moaned, turning away from Ravage and taking his spark with him. "Where are you? Laserbeak?"

When Sonata opened his mouth and moved his lips, and no words came forth, Ravage went for Ratchet.

"You should have gotten me _hours_ ago," was what the medic snarled at him, swinging his legs over his berth. Ravage ignored him, already pacing out in front, but his spark felt squeezed by agony. What if Sonata died because he had waited too long? What if Soundwave came back, and everything he had worked for was truly ashes?

He gave Ratchet a wide berth as he checked Sonata's vitals, his little wrist so limp in his hand. Sonata's wracking cough at least proved he was alive, and Ratchet held his head still, checking the dim light of his optics.

"Infection," he said grimly. Ravage shrank back before he'd even realized he had. "Likely picked up from some worthless shuttle...we're probably also affected."

_I feel fine._

"We're grown mechs. Sparklets are growing always, no resistance to new strains."

Sonata's cough became a sob. Ravage watched Ratchet's hand cup around Sonata's helm, and listened as his voice became a murmur. He smelled genuine worry, and found it didn't surprise him. Reluctant Ratchet was still a soft spark—he wouldn't allow Sonata to come to real harm.

"I'm putting him under observation," Ratchet said. He stood, Sonata cradled against his chest. His optics were online, but too bright, unseeing. Ravage's spark ached. "He'll be alright, but it'll be a rough night. He needs a full systems flush."

Ravage padded after him, long enough to watch Ratchet set Sonata down, and hook him up to an energon line. His small, shivering hand reached out, and he mouth his carrier's name before Ratchet pressed a sedative between his lips.

"Recharge," Ratchet murmured. "Everything will be alright. I have you."

It all tangled in his spark, and Ravage found himself out in the night. Sonata's ventilations were even again, though they still rattled, and he had left Ratchet to mixing something he knew nothing about. He had found that Sonata knew quite a bit about Earth—at least, about the mesa and its sky. The stars here were so different from Cybertron, but Ravage had never spent much time with his optics turned up. The little scrap probably knew more constellations than he did, from either system. Always reading, always learning, his carrier's skill mixed with his sire's passion.

That little scrap was in decent hands. And paws. Ratchet would stick around, if Ravage could help it, whether that be on Earth or Cybertron. He'd found, in the end, that he didn't mind the soft dirt beneath his paws. The wind through the plants, or the bird calls.

When Sonata woke up, he was there, curled up. His own small systems flush (taken at Ratchet's insistence) was sending his fuel tanks in knots, but Sonata's hand on his head relaxed him. He purred, loudly, as a choice place was scratched.

"Still feel sick," Sonata murmured. His hand paused. "You're here."

_Shh. Of course I am._

Sonata offlined his optics again, but the little hand kept up its touches, ones Ravage leaned carefully into. "I'm not allowed to read, you know. Ratchet says I have to rest."

_He might be an Autobot, but he's a doctor._ Ravage did so hate to admit when someone could outclass him. Soundwave had been slightly better about it. _You had better listen where it counts._

_And what about when it's not medicine?_ Sonata's optics flashed online again a moment, mischievous as he dug up an old code. Ravage huffed.

_Case-by-case basis. I'm still a good degree closer to your carrier than he is._

Sonata shifted, getting as comfortable as he could. "Don't leave, Ravage."

_Not even if the stars blink out and this old rock crumbles. Never, my Sonata._

"Good."

* * *

He was almost lazily sifting through files these days, having found such little success. Still, perseverance was a skill Soundwave had valued, and he ought to show it to Sonata. Surely wherever his master was, he was working just as hard.

He paused on one file, because it had a backup. Clearer, though still incomprehensible to one untrained, and Ravage's ears pricked with interest as he hooked into a jack and punched in a code. Soundwave's designation, and a place, one he hadn't heard of, but that the Autobots seemed to know. With a silly, almost fantastical name, one Soundwave would have scoffed at. (But maybe not—he had named his child so fantastically, after all.) He put it aside for future reference, to build a better file. It was no real lead, but it was better than the nothing he had otherwise put up with.

_Shadowzone._


End file.
